Plein Air, Hugs and the Unexpected

There’s something about painting that quietly opens doors you didn’t even know existed. When I first returned to art more seriously during the Covid lockdown, I thought I was simply reconnecting with a creative practice of my past. What I didn’t expect was that it would also introduce me to an entirely new community of people and inspiration — people who understand the strange joy of chasing light, the pains of framing, or debating the color of a tin roof in blazing sunlight with such intensity and passion – while also acknowledging the world is ablaze and at war. (Yes, I found my peeps!)

Take plein air events – while it’s easy to get caught up in the competition of it all, I’ve found a kind of camaraderie that feels both deeply specific and immediately welcoming. Just last week, I wrapped up four days in Quincy, CA at the Lost Sierra Plein Air Festival, where I found myself surrounded by artists who were just as eager to spend the evening sharing a beer and geeking out over how to build custom frames, contemplating the value of doing art fairs and which plein air event is next on the horizon. There’s a shared quirkiness among painters that I love — we can talk about the minutiae of painting ad nauseam without anyone worrying the conversation has become unbearably niche. In fact, the more specific the conversation becomes, the more animated everyone gets.

​Painting also seems to create moments of serendipity that feel too perfect to script. Just this week, I was down in Fresno for a three-day event.  When the event was over, I had just enough time to get a quick plein air session in before sunset – this was prime time! After driving around in search of the “perfect” scene, I noticed a storefront with a red awning glowing beautifully in the light across the street. This was it. I finished the small 6” x 6” study just as the building came into full shadow.  I was able to make out the word “art” on the glass door and wondered what this place was.